Chapter 4: Time Heals Everything, But I'm Still Waiting

[mutantwrites]

Chapter 4: Time Heals Everything, But I'm Still Waiting

The hallways of the Persephone were narrow. It was a tiny ship regardless, and Laura suspected that those aboard it must be going stir crazy. But she was grateful for the small size as she paused and leaned against the wall, catching her breath. It had already been a long day, and it was about to get longer.

The hatch to the imprint room opened, and Laura looked up. Topher drew back, startled out of his thoughts by her presence. "Oh, hey, Madame President. You're early."

"Is that a problem?" Laura asked.

"No, no. Not at all. Gives us a little more time. Come on in and have a seat. I have to… I have to get something, but I'll be right back."

What a strange little man. Billy had once said those words about Baltar, but they fit Topher just as well. She wondered if it was a product of genius, or if it was just bad luck on her part. She made her way into the input room and sat down on a stool by the computer.

Topher had the relevant files out, and she flipped Racetrack's open idly. A lot of it she didn't understand- pictures in shades of blues and greens, data, and notations that looked like file names. There was also a medical report from Cottle, and as Laura flipped further, a detailed file signed by Tigh on Racetrack's service. She glanced at the door, but Topher hadn't yet returned. She turned back to the file.

She'd known that Racetrack and her ECO Skulls had discovered New Caprica, and she knew that the woman was a fierce pilot. But the brief notations of search and rescue missions, combat missions, and triumphs… Laura had forgotten that Racetrack had been with Boomer when they'd blown up that basestar right before Bill was shot. She'd forgotten that Racetrack had found Lee Adama after the Blackbird had been destroyed. She'd fought during the Exodus from New Caprica, the battle of the Ionian Nebula, and every battle in between. She'd shepherded ships to the algae planet, and been on the basestar during its jump. She'd found Raptor 718, although too late. Laura closed her eyes. So much service, so much good done… all to end in this.

"Pretty impressive, huh?"

Laura opened her eyes to see Topher standing in the door, watching her. "Yes," she said. "For all that I work closely with the military, sometimes I forget just how much they each do in their day-to-day lives."

Topher blinked. "Oh. I meant the brain scans," he said, coming over to Laura's side and flipping back the chart. "Racetrack's got a pretty nifty brain," he said. "The neural networks are a little sharper than some of the others." He pointed to the one of the pictures, where there was a network of lines traced over a photograph of a brain. "See?"

"Mmm." Laura didn't, but then, she didn't expect to. "Neuroscience is not really my area of expertise."

"Yeah. I forget that. Want a chip?" Topher extended a bag to her. Laura's eyes widened, because in the bag were real potato chips.

"How did you get those?" she asked, completely shocked.

Topher just shrugged, without the grace to even look embarrassed. "I had a stash. I've made them stretch."

"Yes, but…" Laura decided not to argue and took the chip. She crunched into it, savoring the saltiness. It was stale, but it was also the best thing she had eaten since the food supply had been contaminated. Topher grinned at her and put the bag on the table.

"Only because you're the President and could flush me out the airlock," he said with a short chuckle. He pulled the three files to him and opened them up. "We're doing good," he said, taking another chip and crunching it. "We're seeing excellent responses to the imprinting processes, and no damage is being done to the architecture of the brain. Frankly, that's standard, and I would have been surprised otherwise." He shrugged carelessly, waving it off. "I think Captain Chiseljaw there wants to have a few words with you about Gaeta, but they just have to do with the leg."

"Captain Chiseljaw?" Laura asked.

"Yeah, well… does that man ever smile? Normally it wouldn't bug me, but I swear having him around and doing the stern Saggie impression is really distracting."

"Get used to it," Laura sighed. "Is he a problem?"

"No, no. You get used to his type when you muck around in the nefarious gray regions of the soul; you know that. He's just one of those." Topher sighed and moved the files aside. "Anyway, we've been doing a little… extra credit if you will. Colonial Scout, always be prepared. And I've got some imprint descriptions for you to look over, for slow days when you don't have ideas right off the top of your head. These are ready to go any second for Narcho and Racetrack, and would take five minutes to patch in the leg stuff for Gaeta."

Laura took the sheaf of papers and began to leaf through them. "Neonatal surgeon, physical therapist, psychologist… frak, there's enough work for a platoon of psychologists," she sighed. "Priest?"

"Not that many experts in scriptural interpretation left." Topher said with a shrug. "Especially when you consider how many divisions of religion there are."

"Glassblower?" Laura asked. "Lens grinder?"

"Glasses," Topher said. "It's a very definite skill. Takes years of practice to get it right. Adelle pointed out that lots of people in the Fleet probably need new glasses. Could even make your Cyclopean Colonel there a glass eye."

"Fertility specialist," Laura continued. "Navigator…"

"That was Captain Chiseljaw's suggestion," Topher interrupted. "He said that Gaeta was the best navigator left alive. But, even if you need someone to do some fancy astral calculations, I'm guessing you don't want Gaeta back quite yet."

"I think that would be unwise," Laura murmured. Those were all fantastic ideas, but the next files left her perturbed. "Economist? Social policies expert?"

"Yes." Adelle was standing in the doorway. "I don't mean to be a critic, Madame President, but let's face it. Most of our current politicians have no political education whatsoever. Especially now that the Quorum of Twelve has been replaced with representatives from each ship, organized by a former Viper pilot." Adelle's voice was stern, but she smiled benevolently to take the sting from her words. "Of course, I'm not blaming him," she continued, coming closer. She was carrying two cups of hot tea, one of which she handed to Laura. "He's done an reasonable job with what he's got. But the fact is, Lee Adama is still learning the ropes and could use a… teacher."

"Oh, right. That's another thing," Topher said, leaning in before Laura could counter. "All of these personalities… one of the things we're making standard is for these people to be good at explaining what they do."

"Teach a man to fish," Laura muttered.

Topher snapped and pointed a finger at her. "You got it," he said. "Anyway, just look these as a sort of catalogue. These imprints are on tap, ready to go, in addition to more customized work."

Laura sighed. "Political commentary aside, these will be very useful. Thank you."

"Ah, but don't thank me yet," Topher said. "I saved the best for last."

"Which one's the best?" Laura asked. "They all look fairly impressive."

Topher's grin widened. "The best one isn't for the Actives, President Roslin. It's for you."

For one terrifying moment, Laura's heart stopped. "You're joking," she said.

"He's not, but he doesn't mean it in the way you'd think," Adelle said. She pulled up a stool and sat down on Laura's other side, her motions graceful. "The Agency has a history on Caprica; I've explained that to you before. And as I've explained numerous times, although a high percentage of our engagements were sexual in nature, that was far from all that we did."

"I remember."

"We had a client… I suppose this should be confidential but he's dead now, so it hardly matters… a client who had lost his wife very shortly after she had given birth. The client employed us to provide a mother- a genuine, maternal figure- for his newborn child. Not remarkable in itself, but the client requested that the child be breast-fed."

"But the Active?" Laura asked. "I'm assuming she hadn't just delivered, or you wouldn't be telling me this."

"Not at all," Adelle said, smiling proudly in Topher's direction. "When designing the imprint, Topher was able to alter the Active's brain in a way that induced lactation."

"Alter her brain?"

"Yeah," Topher cut in, his eyes lighting up. "I was able to use the neurological stimulants of the imprinting technology to cause physical manifestations, sort of like the psychological concept of psychosomatic symptoms." Laura blinked, and Topher sighed. "Basically, with a little tweaking and twitching, you can program the human brain to control the body. We do that with muscles already- that's easy. But there's more that the brain controls, like glands and organs. It has to be done very carefully, but… I figured out that you could program the brain to do all number of things. Lactate, control physical responses to stimuli, teleport," Adelle fixed Topher with a glare, "well, if anyone would have any fun, anyway," he muttered. "Or fight disease."

"Like a placebo effect?" Laura asked.

"Nope. Like a change-the-glands, change-the-body effect. The brain isn't just a think tank- it controls the other organs. A little tweaking and you could start changing how other organs function… and actually have them fight the disease."

"So you're saying…" Laura trailed off, because her brain couldn't wrap around what they were saying. But Adelle leaned in, a smile on her face.

"It hasn't been tested, Laura," she said, "but it's a distinct possibility that we could cure your cancer."

***

The whistle blew, and Tom stepped back from the line gratefully. His back was aching and his fingers were raw, and he was filthy. He wished he could complain, but he knew better. At least he had his mind and his freedom, as limited as it was.

He joined the others trudging towards the showers. He hated the showers- big, gang-like arrangements that reminded him far too much of prison. But the stench of tylium and sweat was overpowering. He entered and stripped off his stained undershirt and the pants that had been ruined by dust and ripped fabric. For all that his suit had been in good shape (relatively speaking) when he stepped on the Hitei Kan, it now looked just as bad as the clothing that the rest of the workers wore.

Most of the workers on his shift were headed to the dining hall now, but Tom decided to go back to the room he was currently occupying. It wasn't one of the original bunk rooms intended for the crew, but rather a room that had been intended for storing unrefined tylium that had been converted to a dorm after the attacks. It had been hosed down to get rid of the worst of the smell, but a faint odor still clung to it, giving Tom a constant headache. Rather than using cots, the newer Hitei Kan workers had gotten their hands on parachute fabric, most likely from one of the military vessels, and had made a slew of hammocks that hung from the grated ceiling of the storage room. Tom found his and collapsed into it.

The room was quiet, relatively speaking. Someone was snoring, and a couple was talking in low voices, but for the most part, everyone living in this room was currently in the dining hall. He put his feet up into the hammock and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes.

"Tom? You in here?"

He sighed and opened his eyes. "I'm here, Asok. What's happening?"

"Paper's here," Asok said, approaching Tom's hammock. He handed Tom a copy. It had been recycled so many times it felt like it would disintegrate under his fingers as he opened it.

"Some days, I don't know why I bother," he sighed. "It's not like Roslin's going to be announcing this technology any time soon."

"True." Asok sighed. "According to Dale, there have been no other mutineers spotted on Galactica. Just Gaeta, Edmondson, and Allison." Zarek raised his eyebrows at the use of last names as opposed to callsigns, and Asok nodded. "I'm trying to use their names," he pointed out. "Callsigns might be a sign of affection in the military, but they sort of dehumanize soldiers to civilians. I think that's something we need to remember; whatever Roslin his having these people do, they are still human."

"Can't argue with that." Tom scanned the headlines. They were as grim as always, although at least two tried to put a positive spin on the farce of being allied with the Cylons. It was frustrating to look at the news and not be in a position to do anything about it. He turned the page.

The article that made him sit up with the red warning lights going off was inconspicuous as best. In fact, Tom had read it because of the headline: "Research on Improving Algae Flavor Successful." The idea of anything turning that slop even slightly more edible was something that would appeal to every living soul in the Fleet.

"What is it?" Asok asked.

Tom pointed to the blurb. "'Simple modifications to the equipment'" he read aloud. "'Performed by food scientist Jeremiah Canton.'"

"So?"

"Simple modifications? We've been living off algae for almost a year, and simple modifications to the equipment are able to improve the flavor?"

"I'll believe it when I taste it," Asok said sourly. "Although if that was all, why so… oh. Oh. I see."

"Damn it!" Tom slammed the paper down. It wasn't a very impressive gesture, slamming it into his lap, but it made the point all the same. "This has got to be Roslin. It's got to be. But I can't find out, because I can't get off this damn ship!"

"And even if you could find out, getting the word out would be difficult."

"Difficult, maybe," Tom said, waving it off. "Not impossible. I published from prison."

"Where they knew where you were. They could allow it then, because you were already in their custody," Asok argued. "But now, publishing could lead them right to you, which puts you in their power and makes you one of those doll-things." Asok sighed. "What you need is someone that already has a voice and access to the publishing industry, who has been outspoken enough about Roslin that you could trust them, and that it would not be seen as suspicious for them to be investigating."

Tom thought for a moment, and then the answer hit him. He began to smile. "What?" Asok asked. "What is it?"

"You are a genius," Tom answered. "I know exactly who we need."

***

Helo waited outside the head. He'd learned that getting Gaeta to use the head before he had the imprint wiped from him again was the easiest way to deal with that awkwardness at night. He didn't mind when Dr. Stevenson or Tim Reynolds or Kevin Shanks or Dr. Bill Hoffstader, which was who Gaeta was today, asked him for help. But Gaeta in that helpless state, where he was confused and couldn't handle his own handicap… that made Helo intensely uncomfortable.

"All right," Gaeta said, pushing the door open with his shoulder and emerging, leaning heavily on his crutches. "I'm exhausted. You mentioned something about a treatment, Captain Agathon."

"Right. A treatment." That was another thing that freaked Helo out- he always expected Gaeta to fight him when he said something about a treatment. But it never failed, no matter who was in Gaeta's body today, the prospect of a treatment was always met with a calm acceptance- even to the point of anticipation. But Gaeta just sighed and limped on his crutches along beside Helo. His arms were shaking, though, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired," Helo ventured.

"Three surgeries in a day when I still should be recovering will do that to a person," Gaeta snapped. The thing about Dr. Hoffstader was that he was a young, brilliant gastrointestinal specialist from the same general area as Gaeta himself. He didn't have some of the peculiarities that had defined the other personalities that had inhabited Gaeta's body, and with this one, it was really hard to forget that the person next to him wasn't Gaeta. But Dr. Hoffstader softened. "That was uncalled for. I apologize."

"It's all right."

"You must be exhausted as well. You were working while I was in surgery."

"Yeah." There had been a refueling mission and a meeting with Showboat and Starbuck, going over the new drills for the squads, and another meeting with the Six that was serving as the Cylon CAG. It had been exhausting, but next to three surgeries, Helo was feeling a little insignificant.

He opened the door to the imprint room. Topher looked up and waved. "You guys are back early."

"Yeah."

"I see you're all in your jammies and ready to be tucked in," Topher said as Gaeta sat down in the chair. He entered a code and Gaeta sat back, closing his eyes. The blue light of the halo began to glow, and Topher looked at Helo. "What's that all about?"

"It's just easier," Helo snapped. "Look, I've been meaning to ask… would it be possible for me to go over to Galactica for the night? I'd really like to see my wife and daughter."

Topher blinked. "You've been staying here all this time? Wow." He shrugged. "Just tell Victor or Sierra so if he needs help, they can help him. If nothing's gone wrong the past two weeks, it should be fine."

"Thanks." It felt like a load off his shoulders. But Topher just shrugged and went back to what he was doing. A minute later, Gaeta sat up.

"Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while," Topher answered.

"Should I go now?"

"If you like."

Gaeta struggled to his feet, and Helo jumped in to help him, grabbing him by the arm. "All right," he said, "let's get you to bed."

"Yes," Gaeta said. "I am tired. Sleep would be nice."

Helo grit his teeth and suppressed a shudder. "Come on then," he said, leading Gaeta down the hall. Gaeta was silent, but pleasantly so. Helo opened the door and they saw Racetrack and Narcho sitting on the floor at the low table, eating dinner. Victor and Sierra were sitting on the couch very close together, engaged in quiet conversation. They looked up when Helo and Gaeta entered.

"You look exhausted," Victor said, albeit kindly.

"He is," Helo began, and then realized that Victor had been talking about him. He sighed. "Yeah. Listen, I cleared it with Topher already, but would you guys mind keeping an ear out for Gaeta tonight? I want to go back to Galactica. He's headed to bed right now."

"I am," Gaeta said. "I need to sleep."

"Sleep is good," Narcho offered in a dull voice, and hearing all the color and life gone from his voice cut almost as bad as hearing Gaeta. Helo prayed frantically that Racetrack wouldn't speak.

"It is," Sierra said kindly to Narcho, and then turned back to Helo. "That's fine. Once he's in bed, he's no trouble at all. Same as my boy here." Her expression was extremely affectionate as she looked at Narcho. He didn't smile back at her, but there was something in his posture that indicated he would, if the Actives really smiled.

"Great." Helo just wanted out of this freak house now. He lead Gaeta through the sitting room and back to the small room of racks and helped him get settled in bed, leaning his crutches where he could get to them for easy access and helping him take the prosthetic off. The stump looked swollen and raw, and Helo took a few minutes to spread the cream that Cottle had given Gaeta on the skin.

"Thank you," Gaeta said. "That feels much better."

"Yeah, well, get some sleep." Helo pulled the blanket up for him. "And if you need anything, call for Victor or Sierra, okay?"

"All right." Gaeta closed his eyes.

Helo straightened up, and with one last look at his charge, beat it the hell out of there.

***

It was late, and Laura was completely drained of energy. Laura had to admit that Helo had amazing arms. She leaned on one as they made their way through the Galactica in silence. She supposed she should be the one to keep the conversational ball rolling, but the truth was that she was exhausted. Helo didn't seem to mind.

"Good night, Captain," she said, when they reached Bill's quarters.

Helo nodded solemnly. "Good night, President Roslin." He saluted and then headed off. Laura opened the hatch and entered Bill's study.

"Captain Chiseljaw," she said, shaking her head.

Bill looked up from his desk. "Excuse me?" he asked, brows furrowing.

"It's what Topher calls Helo- Captain Chiseljaw. I know I shouldn't laugh, but as I think about it, Topher is right. Does that man ever smile?"

"You've seen him smile," Bill said, with a grim smile of his own. The smile faded immediately. "What is it?"

"What's what?" Laura asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Cut the crap. Something's going on. I can see that."

Laura sighed and sat down on the sofa. "You're not going to like it."

"What have I liked since we found Earth?" Bill asked bitterly. "Hit me."

"I want to be clear on something," Laura said carefully. "I have made my decision about this. I am not asking you what you think. But I do want you to be aware of it, so if I start acting like I'm not myself, you will know why."

The lines on Bill's face deepened. "You're right I'm not going to like this," he said.

"No. I've been talking to Adelle and Topher, and they told me about some experiments that they did on Caprica. Experiments where they were able to change how the body functions by changing the programming of the brain. They told me of an instance where they were able to force lactation in a woman that had never been pregnant. Apparently, this technique is very powerful."

"You're looking to make wet nurses?" Bill said with a frown.

"That's actually an interesting concept, but no. Topher thinks that he can program a human brain to convince the body to fight cancer."

"Topher also thinks he can change the color of the sky and invent time travel," Bill said gruffly. "I've never seen anyone with such a conceit in their work, except Baltar."

Baltar. Laura smirked. "He cured my cancer once," Laura said wryly, "why shouldn't we try again? He is brilliant, Bill. Beyond what anyone in this Fleet except Baltar can imagine."

"I know."

"So I'm going to do it."

Bill's face hardened. "No, you're not."

Laura arched an eyebrow at him. "Would you care to repeat that, Admiral Adama?" she said, a hint of steel in her tone.

Bill heard it and backed off a bit, but that bullheaded expression was still on his face. "It's not a good idea."

"You don't even know what it entails."

"I know it means putting your brain in the hands of those people."

"You did it to three of your men."

"That was different. They mutinied." He leaned in. "Do you trust them that much, Laura?"

"No," Laura admitted. "But I don't have much to lose."

"The diloxin-"

"The diloxin was buying me time, Bill, not curing me. You know that."

"I do." The bitterness on his face cut her to the core, and Laura forced herself to still look at him, instead of looking away. "That doesn't change anything."

"No, it doesn't," Laura agreed. "The fact is that I am dying. And the further fact is there is nothing Doc Cottle or even the top oncologist Topher can pull out of his data banks can do to stop it. There is no miracle this time, and I've outlived my last one. We both know I have a matter of weeks. What can they take from me?"

"Those last few weeks."

"It's worth the risk to me." She reached out and cupped his cheek to take the sting from her words. "I'm not going to die from this. The worst it can do-"

"Is take your mind completely."

"It won't. There's a chance, yes, but Topher says he's never had that happen." Laura sat back. "The worst that can happen is that I lose a day or two of the few I have left on a treatment that doesn't work."

Bill grimaced. "That's not the worst that can happen. What if they alter your mind in ways you don't want? Look what happened to Sam." His face hardened further. "Look what we've done to Gaeta."

"That's one of the reasons you need to know," Laura said. "If I start acting strangely, you can take measures."

He nodded. "And the other reasons?" he asked, and she could tell he didn't like any of this.

She smiled. "You know them."

He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she sighed and leaned into him. "I do," he agreed. Laura closed her eyes and rested her head on Bill's shoulders, hoping that she'd remember all of this tomorrow.

***

Helo nudged the hatch to his quarters open silently, half wishing he could wake Hera but knowing that Sharon would kill him if he did. Fortunately, a lifetime on spaceships had rendered Hera a fairly sound sleeper when she wasn't having nightmares, and she didn't even stir as Helo entered. Sharon looked up from the book she was reading and smiled.

"You're home!"

"I am," he said. She got off the bed and came to him and he embraced her gratefully. "How're you?"

"Can't complain," Sharon said. She glanced over at Hera. "I was glad when she went to bed tonight, though."

"She missing me?"

"You're doing what you have to do," Sharon answered with a shrug, which was a yes. Helo rolled his eyes at her. "How's it all going?"

"All right." Helo stripped off his duty blues jacket and tossed it into the laundry bag. "Oh, God. The clean laundry- has it been that long I've been at this already?"

Sharon shrugged. "I was going to get to it, but-"

"No, don't. Sit. You've had Hera all day," he insisted, pulling the laundry up and beginning to fold. "Besides, I just need to do something normal for a while. That's why I took the night off."

"Is it that bad?" Sharon asked.

"It's crazy. I mean, during the day when he's off doing… whatever they've got him doing, that's not so bad. Although, let me tell you, it's really crazy to hear Gaeta with an Aerelon accent, or talking at length about car racing."

"Car racing?"

"The guy he was two… no, three days ago. He was really into drag racing. If he wasn't working, he was talking about it. Anyway, the days are fine. It's after Topher wipes the imprint away."

Sharon looked down at the blanket, picking at it awkwardly. That sort of hesitancy was unusual for her, and Helo set the pair of pants he was folding down. "What?"

"It's nothing."

"Bullshit. I know you, Sharon."

A little smile played around the edge of her lips for a moment, but faded fast. "All right. It's just… do you really think that what Adama and Roslin have done to Gaeta is right?"

Helo blinked. "You were all for executing him after the mutiny."

Sharon's face turned steely. "I still am," she said sharply. "But there's a difference between an execution and this sort of slavery. Gaeta deserved to die for what he did. But what they're doing… it's playing God."

Helo shrugged. "I don't like it. Believe me, Sharon, I really don't like it. But he's been saving lives- lives that might have been lost without the expertise that Topher's got in that computer of his."

"That doesn't make it right."

"What do you want me to do?" Helo asked. "Tell Adama to stop making surgeons and weapons experts and flight engineers?"

"You've done it before."

"There's a big difference between killing off an entire race and compromising one soul."

"Three souls," Sharon contradicted, but Helo shook his head.

"Narcho and Racetrack were given the option. They agreed to it."

"How does that make the loss of free will any better?" Sharon asked. "It's like programming a sleeper agent!"

"Something you are really frakking qualified to comment on!" Helo retorted. He saw the look on her face and softened. "I'm sorry. That was unfair."

"It's all right," Sharon said stiffly.

"Look," Helo said, when the silence between them had stretched too long. "I don’t like it, okay? But what's done is done, and it's not so black and white. And they don't seem to be gung ho to make any more Actives, okay? Let's just let this one go."

"All right," Sharon said. She thought of what the three of them had done, what they'd almost cost Sharon herself, and nodded stiffly. "All right," she said again.

She didn't even dare to think about Tom Zarek.

***

"So Laura's really going to do this, huh?" Saul said, taking the drink Bill offered him.

"She won't listen to any other arguments," Bill sighed.

"Well, guess I can see why. Doc says there's nothing else he can do for her. Still," Saul mused, "not sure I'd want to put my brain under that halo."

"You're sure," Bill grumbled. "You've had the option."

"Yeah. I know." Saul considered the liquor in his glass as he slumped in his chair.

"Can't say I blame you," Bill muttered. He swirled his own glass and changed the subject. "Hoshi calm down yet?"

"Huh?" Saul looked up. "Oh, yeah. He's not happy about it, but he wouldn't be happy if you shot Gaeta and Allison, either, so can't really help that. Scuttlebutt has it he got rip roaring drunk with Starbuck the night I told him, and hasn't spoken to much of anyone since."

"Good."

"Yeah. Less trouble that way, I guess." Saul sighed. "CIC's getting harder to run, though. We're down Dualla and we're down Gaeta. And with Helo unable to fill in, we're really getting down to the wire."

"Kelly should be a help. Move him over to tactical, as long as it doesn't require navigation."

"All right. What are you going to do for a navigator?"

"Hoshi and Thornton do well enough for now. If we need someone else, we'll make one."

"Gaeta could-"

"No."

"Right." Saul finished his drink. "You go over those reports from Sam and Tory yet? What they remember from Earth?"

"It's been interesting," Bill admitted, "but not overly useful. They haven't given us the golden lynchpin that lets us undo the Cylons."

"If anyone's given us that, it's the Cylons themselves when they handed us the Resurrection Hub."

"I know," Bill muttered. "I guess I'm expecting too much. This technology isn't the answer to all of our prayers."

"No," Saul said, thinking of the slim hope it offered Laura, "but maybe it is the answer to some of them."

***

Playa Palacios- sat down across from Tom, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. "You're not armed." It wasn't a question.

"Pat me down, if you like."

"Funny." She'd thought it was an innuendo.

"I wasn't intending to be," Tom sighed.

She looked at him. He'd gone without shaving, and his beard was coming in unevenly, and his hair had gotten a little shaggy. His clothes were in terrible shape, and he'd lost weight with the physical labor. "No," she admitted, with a bitter sort of smile, "I guess you weren't. But you can't blame me for asking."

"No." He was unapologetic. "But I did what I had to do, and you're safe. Shooting you will accomplish nothing right now."

"Right. Because you're a revolutionary, not a murderer."

"You mock me, but it's true."

Playa smirked. She looked good, although her suit was worn and her skin was pale and her hair was lank and lifeless. "So, Tom," she said, sitting back, "you have my attention. Why exactly am I here?"

"How much did they tell you?"

"Enough that I'm intrigued, although I find it hard to believe that Roslin has a technology that can change people's brains."

"Do you believe she'd use it if she had it?" Tom asked, leaning forward.

Playa snorted. "Of course."

"It's not just changing someone's mind," Tom said. "It's changing the essence of who they are. Putting skills into them, putting a new person into them."

"So I gathered. But the question is what do you want me to do about it?"

"Get the information legitimately and run it. The Fleet deserves to know what kind of technology is here, and what measures the President and the Admiral are taking."

Playa frowned. "And how do you suggest I stay out of the airlock myself?"

"Because Laura Roslin isn't that kind of tyrant," Tom said. "I will scream against her as loud as I can, but I do believe this- Laura does what she does because she thinks it is best. She can't see the aristocracy she is building and she can't see the folly of her decisions, but she is making them because she believes they are for the best, and they protect people."

"I doubt she'd have such a charitable opinion of you," Playa said, raising her eyebrows. She frowned. "I don't understand what you're trying to do."

"That's because you don't believe me when I say I'm not a tyrant, either."

"Yes, well, forgive me if you killing eleven Quorum members makes me a little skeptical of your good intentions."

"It's not about power," Tom insisted. "It's about freedom."

"Right. I've heard this speech from you before." Playa sighed, crossing her legs. "All right. Let's get down to business. You want me to research what Roslin's doing and put it out there for everyone to see. Before, I wouldn't have had to ask, because the payoff would be obvious. But you're not Vice President any more, and no matter what you do, you will never, ever be in power again. So what are you getting out of this?"

"The ability to live my life and show my face without having to worry about having myself erased," Tom said. "If she wants to kill me, she's welcome to try. But I will not live without my mind, and I will not let others live like this. I don't know about Narcho and Racetrack, but Gaeta didn't chose this."

"Why do you care?" Playa asked, frowning. "Not to sound callous, because I know you two were friends on New Caprica, but you don't really strike me as the white knight type."

"Because you protect the man you're with. Felix Gaeta and I went into this together, as partners. That's reason enough."

"Mmm."

"Don't believe me if you don't want to. But it's the truth." Tom leaned forward. "Playa, come on. You know me. We've worked together or against each other for a long time, in the Fleet and on New Caprica. There's a lot I do that people don't agree with, but there's one thing I don't do unless I'm desperate, and that's beg." He slid out of the chair. "Please. You've now got the satisfaction of bringing me to my knees, which is something Roslin never had. You run with this, you see I'm right, and you'll have the satisfaction of bringing her to her knees as well. Please, do this."

Playa nodded tightly. "All right, Tom. I'll look into it. But if I find out that you're lying to me, I'll tell the President where you are, and you'll be out the airlock in a matter of seconds."

"If you tell the President where I am, you'll find out that I'm not lying." He got back up into his chair. "I won't be out the airlock. I'll be worse than dead."

***

"I don't like this," Bill told Laura.

"You don't have to like this," Laura replied, her voice even. "I don't like this." She settled into the imprint chair. Bill didn't want to let go of her hand.

"It will be fine, Admiral," Adelle said, her smile reassuring. "The worst that will happen is this won't work."

"Eh, actually there is that zero-point-two chance that her entire brain could go klabooie," Topher put in. "Or the one percent chance-"

"Topher, that's enough," Adelle said sternly. "President Roslin, would you like a sedative?"

Laura's hand tightened around Bill's. "I think so," she said to Adelle. "Yes. That would be best."

Adelle nodded to Topher, who hustled around with a syringe and injected the contents into Laura's arm. Laura smiled, then turned to face Bill. "It will be all right," she told him, her voice already growing heavy.

"I know," he lied.

The imprint room looked so different today. The lighting seemed softer, and there were no marines. There would be no handler; Laura would be reimprinted with her own personality, her own self. Topher began inserting the needles, and the lump in Bill's throat grew.

Adelle nudged him. "This will take a while, Admiral. If you want to come back later-"

"No."

A stern expression passed over Adelle's face. "I assure you, Admiral, she will be safe with us, and I am sure you have other things that need to be done."

"I will wait." Bill glared at her.

"Ya-hah! Watch it!" Topher protested. "You're likely to kill somebody with that thing!"

"Topher, that's really not necessary. Admiral, suit yourself," Adelle said. "Are we ready?"

"Hovercats are a go," Topher said, securing the last needle. "We're ready."

"All right. Go ahead."

Bill swallowed, and Topher began.

***

Athena was piloting today. Helo usually liked that; working together was a nice way to spend the day. But today, with the three Actives and the other two handlers- Actives themselves- in the Raptor, disapproval was radiating off her strongly, and Helo was content to sit in the ECO chair, far away from his wife.

Gaeta was sitting in one of the bucket seats, a clipboard in his lap. Today he was Brian McPhearson, a mechanic that was an expert in fast repairs of sensor equipment. Racetrack was Annie Kereal, and Narcho was Gray Kelly, both of whom were highly skilled in actually doing the delicate extraction and replacement of the parts that needed to be repaired. The Demetrius had sustained some damage that was thought to be irreparable on Kara's mission. They'd been limping along with the glitches in their sensor systems, but it would be far better for their navigation components if those glitches were fixed. Gaeta-McPhearson- whoever was going over the mission with the other two. Helo couldn't help noticing that Gray Kelly listened to McPhearson a hell of a lot more attentively than Narcho had ever listened to a Galactica CAG.

Sierra smiled at Helo. "Have a good night at home?" she asked.

"Yeah. Thanks again," Helo said, ripping himself out of his thoughts. "I forget. Have you met my wife Athena?"

Sierra smiled. "Not in person, no, but of course we know who she is." She leaned forward. "It is very nice to meet you properly," she told Athena.

"Likewise," Sharon bit off.

Helo didn't so much sense that Sharon wasn't in the mood to talk as pick up on her waving huge red signal flags. "How long have you and Victor been together?" he asked, to distract Sierra from Sharon.

It worked. Sierra's smile deepened, and her eyes got a little bit of a dreamy look. "Since not long after the attacks," she said. "We both worked for different outposts of the Agency, and we met when we were going to Virgon to present the technology there. But it felt like we'd known each other so much longer."

"The annihilation of humanity does tend to do that," Helo murmured, but Sierra shook her head.

"No. It was even before that. As soon as we sat down on the Persephone… I looked at him and I just knew. Tell me, Captain, do you believe in love at first sight?"

Yeah, but was it first sight when you sat down on the Persephone? Helo wanted to ask. How long have you two been Actives at the Agency anyway? Were you in love then? Before you became Actives? But he knew he wasn't allowed to ask any of that. He kept his voice casual as he said, "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, I didn't," Sierra told him.

"Me either," Victor put in. "My parents went through a messy divorce when I was thirteen. I swore I wouldn't get involved in that crap."

"Are you going to get married?" Helo asked. Sierra and Victor exchanged glances.

"We're still working on that," Sierra said. "Despite his vows never to marry," she toed Victor playfully, "Victor's determined to have a ceremony blessed by the gods."

"What can I say?" Victor said with a shrug. "I grew up in Edessa, on Gemenon. I went to temple from as early as I can remember."

It wasn't what he said that made Helo look away, swallowing hard. It was that he believed it. It reminded him all too strongly of Boomer telling him about Troy. He remember that she cried- she frakking cried- when she told him about her parents dying in that mining accident.

There weren't many places to look in a Raptor, especially since he really didn't want to see Sharon's expression right now, so he glanced back over his shoulder at their charges. Gaeta was putting the clipboard away, and they were all laughing about something. He leaned a little closer, and heard Racetrack saying, "Frak, remember the time that Grayson got his tool belt caught on the relief valve? He nearly steamed his cock off!" The guys both laughed.

"Gods, I thought that Hansen was going to have a fit," Narcho laughed. They were talking so naturally that for a moment, Helo found himself wracking his brain to remember who the names belonged to. But they were people that had never been on the Galactica.

Gaeta was laughing, but he was also looking out the front window. As they approached the hangar bay, he scooted forward a little to talk to Helo.

"You said there's a pilot who can get us up close to the ship, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be doing that."

"You're sure you're good and steady? I don't want my guys getting stranded out there- or crushed."

"I'm good." Helo felt like he should avoid it, but he couldn't. "I'll get us right up against the Demetrius."

There should have been a reaction. After all, that was the damn ship that Felix had lost his leg on. That was where this entire mess had started. But Gaeta- McPhearson- didn't even blink. "Okay. Good. This is going to be hard enough, and the last thing we need is to lose someone because the pilot can't keep his hands steady. Got it?" He smacked Helo on the arm with his clipboard, but the gesture was friendly. He settled back. "So this is Galactica, huh? Never been on it before."

"Right," Helo muttered, grateful that Athena was landing now. "Well, she's something."

"Yeah." Fortunately, as the Raptor glided in, Gaeta opted to struggle with his crutches instead. Helo breathed out, watching as the deck crew bustled around. As Sharon turned off the Raptor, she glanced back over her shoulder. "Don't even say it," he muttered at her.

"Apparently, I don't need to," she said with a humorless smile.

Helo sighed.

He helped Gaeta off the Raptor first, and then Sierra and Narcho jumped down after him. "So, is there time for a tour?" Narcho began, as Racetrack followed. "I'm with MacPhearson. This isn't an opportunity-"

Helo saw Sierra move in a flash of copper hair. She pushed Narcho down to the floor, and then spun, her leg flaring out in a crescent kick. To Helo's surprise, a pistol went flying out of a knuckledragger's hand, skidding to a stop twenty feet away. Sierra attacked the shooter, her fighting vicious and proficient.

Another crewman- Patricks, Helo remembered- lunged in. He went straight for Racetrack, his hands closing around her throat. Victor was right beside her though, and brought a powerful elbow down on Patricks' neck.

"There's Gaeta!" The shout came from very nearby, and Helo turned his head just in time to see the flash of a gun in the hands of a tall crewman. He dove at the shooter, knocking him over just as the gun went off. They rolled together on the floor, Helo grappling with the man until his hands were pinned to the ground. He looked up to take stock of the situation. Sierra was on the ground, covering Narcho with her own body, and Victor had pulled Patricks off Racetrack, who was now huddled against the Raptor, and had him facedown on the floor with his arms locked up behind him. Athena was standing over them all, her gun drawn as she scanned the faces of the people watching them. Most of the deck crew had frozen.

"They should have died," the crewman that Helo had pinned ground out. "You're really protecting them, Agathon? After everything they did? After all the people on this ship that died?"

"I'm following the Admiral's orders," was the only thing Helo could say. "And you're going to be doing the same." He looked up. "Someone get some marines down here!" he shouted. "I don't care what you think about these three," he growled at his prisoner. "You do not open fire on the deck!"

The crewman wasn't remotely repentant. "They deserved to die, Agathon. They're mutinous scum, and by protecting them, you're doing the same. Of course, I would have expected that out of a toaster lover and a-" Helo headbutted him, and the crewman went unconscious beneath him. He got to his feet. "That goes for the rest of you, too," he said, looking around the deck. "If I find out anyone else was in on this…."

He strode over to Gaeta, who was sitting in the Raptor. His face was a chalky sort of gray, and his hand was clapped over his cheek. "What happened?" Helo demanded, removing his hand and seeing blood. "Frak." He put the hand back. "Keep pressure on it. I think it's just a graze, but… can you talk?"

"I don't know," Gaeta began, and winced. "Yeah. Hurts like hell, but nothing's shattered."

"Damn." Helo looked back over his shoulder. The marines were coming in. Sierra got off Narcho, who struggled to his feet, and there was blood soaking through his shirt at the shoulder. Racetrack looked unharmed. "We'd better get you to sick bay," he told Gaeta. "Nar- I mean, Gray, too."

"All right," Gaeta agreed shakily. "Annie!" Racetrack looked up. "Get us prepped, will you?" He looked over at Sharon. "Can you give them a hand?"

"I can do that," Sharon said neutrally.

"Thanks." Gaeta tried to smile, but hissed as it pulled at the cut on his cheek. He tried to struggle to his feet and then sighed. "I think I'm gonna need some help."

***

Both wounds were superficial. Gaeta's cheek wound was exactly what Helo had suspected - a graze - and although it required stitches, it didn't take long. Narcho's shoulder was a puncture wound from when Sierra had pushed him down to the ground and he'd landed on a bit of scrap metal. The metal had hit bone, not organ, and the damage was minimal.

Colonel Tigh came down as Ishay was finishing up on Narcho. "Everything still under control for the Demetrius repairs?" he asked.

"We'll be behind schedule, but yeah. McPhearson here was telling Racetrack's alter-ego to get the prep done while they got sewn back up." Helo gestured with his chin at Gaeta. "Where's the Admiral?"

"Busy," Tigh said shortly. "I'll make sure he hears about this." He sighed. "We should have anticipated this. Hell, we did anticipate this. We shouldn't have gotten so sloppy."

"Yeah, well, only so many marines left," Helo said a little bitterly. He glared a Gaeta, who was joking with the nurse who was putting on his dressing. The nurse looked extremely confused.

"Well, take 'em back up the long way," Tigh said. "People won't expect you to go that way. I can dispatch a marine or two, but-"

"I think we'll be okay with me and Sierra." Helo nodded to the woman sitting in the waiting area, legs crossed and reading a magazine from four years ago. He lowered his voice. "You should see her fight, Colonel."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She could take on half the marines and win." Helo frowned. "Somehow, I doubt that's who she really is."

"Makes sense, I guess," Tigh was pretending to be casual, but Helo could see that his brain was working. "Guess if I was going to custom build a bodyguard of sorts, I'd put something like that in, too."

"Did you know about it, sir? The fighting?"

"No, but I also didn't ask." Tigh sighed. "Get them back to work, Captain."

"Yes, sir." Fortunately, the medics were finishing up. "Come on," Helo called. "We're going back a different way."

As they walked through the corridors of Galactica- slowly, to accommodate Gaeta's pace- Narcho kept asking questions. It set Helo's teeth on edge, because while the questions were all innocent (how did they section off civilian versus military sections of the ship? Did this class of battlestar run with the DD-836 engines? Where were the gun batteries located and who ran them?), they were all questions that Narcho knew the answers to. Narcho did, anyway, but Gray Kelly didn't. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

He turned the corner sharply and headed down the Memorial Hallway. Helo had gotten so used to the site that he could close off his consciousness as he walked through here, but after half a hallway he realized he was walking alone. When he turned around, he saw Sierra, Narcho, and Gaeta all looking at the walls, their eyes wide.

"My gods," Sierra said softly. Her throaty voice sounded hoarse and choked. "I know everyone is dead. I've known that. But to see this… to see this representation…."

Narcho put a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Gaeta was navigating the corridor, studying the faces as he moved along slowly. He stopped in one spot where a candle burned and bowed his head. Helo came close enough to hear him mutter a prayer to Zeus. It was always a shock to realize just how much he still thought of the man standing in front of him as Gaeta, even when presented with solid evidence that he wasn't. Gaeta never would have prayed, to Zeus or any other god.

There were footsteps, and Helo braced. But as the intruder walked in, Helo realized that although his charges were physically safe, this was far, far worse. A third of his way down the hall, Lieutenant Hoshi stopped, lit a candle, and then got down to his knees in prayer.

Helo exhaled. Maybe they could sneak by. Maybe Hoshi would be so lost in memories he wouldn't notice them. Maybe-

"Oh, frak," Gaeta said, as a crutch clattered to the floor. "Captain Agathon, would you mind…?"

Hoshi's eyes snapped open and he got to his feet.

"Don't," Helo warned, holding a hand up at Hoshi as if to ward him off. "Just turn around and go back to your prayers, Hoshi. Don't do this to yourself."

But Hoshi's eyes were fixed on the two men. Gaeta didn't even notice, still struggling with his crutches. Narcho did, but his expression was mainly sympathetic. Could this day get any worse? Helo wondered, and then decided he didn't want an answer.

"Sorry to disturb," Narcho apologized to Hoshi. Or, more accurately, Gray Kelly did, as Helo had never heard Narcho apologize for anything. He noticed the stricken look on Hoshi's face. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah. I…" Hoshi was looking directly at Narcho now. Helo was vaguely aware there was some personal connection between the two men, but he couldn't remember what it was. "It's just…"

"I can believe it," Narcho said. He looked at the wall. "Which one is yours?" When Hoshi just stared at him incredulously, Narcho shrugged. "That's what you're here for, right?"

"Right." Hoshi went over to the wall and pointed to a picture that was pinned low. Narcho knelt down to take a better look.

"Beautiful kid," he said after an appropriate pause. "And your husband?"

The connection came back to Helo suddenly. Not just his husband, he realized. Your brother. Narcho was looking at his own brother and he didn't even recognize his face. Helo wanted to scream. Hoshi just nodded silently, his mouth pressed into a nearly invisible line.

"What are their names?" Narcho asked gently. "I'll pray for them."

Hoshi closed his eyes. "Julie is the little girl," he said. "Matthew was my husband." He opened his eyes and looked directly at Narcho. "Julie and Matthew," he repeated. Helo could tell he was willing those names to bring some memory back. But Narcho just clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"I'll pray for them," he repeated, and there was such sincerity in his voice that Helo had no doubt that Gray Kelly would pray for Julie, and Matthew.

It was Sierra who spoke up. "We've got to get moving," she said softly. "We're behind schedule enough already."

"All right." Narcho extended his hand to Hoshi. "It was nice talking to you." Hoshi just nodded, but he squeezed Narcho's hand so tightly that the skin around his fingers turned white. Narcho smiled sympathetically and disengaged himself, and then continued with Sierra down the Hall.

"Eric," Helo said. "McPhearson. Let's go."

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry." Gaeta snapped back to reality. To Helo's relief, Hoshi didn't say anything, even though he obviously couldn't take his eyes off Gaeta. "It's just… you look at these pictures and there's just a story behind every one, you know?" He sighed. "I just…" he reached out and touched one. "I wish I could…" he shook his head, snapping himself out of it. "You're right. Let's go." He limped by Hoshi without another word.

Helo was relieved. The last thing they needed was some sort of scene where Hoshi tried to convince Gaeta that they knew each other, that they meant something so much more, et cetera. Hoshi knelt back down as they left, and Gaeta was focused on the process of walking. But when Helo looked back at the picture that Gaeta had touched, his blood turned cold.

Gaeta had been staring at the picture of Dee.

***

"Thank you for the report," Bill said quietly, glancing back over his shoulder. The worst was over. He couldn't see her through the closed door, but when he'd stepped out, Laura looked like she was just peacefully sleeping in the chair now. "The repairs on the Demetrius?"

"Successfully completed, sir," Helo said. "The crew is waiting in the Active room until you're ready to wipe them." He got that look he got on his face when he was about to say something he knew Bill wouldn't like.

"I heard about the attack on the crew," Bill said, thinking to intercept him. "Tigh passed the news on to me."

Helo nodded, his face unchanged. "Sir," he finally said, "we ran into Lieutenant Hoshi in the Memorial Hallway."

"Frak." Bill sighed. "How'd Hoshi take it?"

"All right. He's upset."

"He would be. Is that all?"

"No." Helo took a breath. "When we were in the Hall, Gaeta was looking at a picture for a long time. It was Dee."

"Coincidence?"

"I don't know. I didn't comment. And after we left the Hall, Narcho commented that there was something about Hoshi's voice."

"His voice?"

"Sir, Hoshi's a Communications Officer. Tell me you wouldn't still recognize the voice of anyone who ever called you home. And add to that the fact they're brothers-in-law…."

"It could still be coincidence."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep an eye on it." Helo nodded. "You're dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Helo left, and Bill reentered the imprint room.

"Everything all right?" Adelle asked him quietly.

Bill nodded, his eyes on Laura. "You know, you haven't mentioned a handler."

"Because she doesn't need one," Adelle said. "A handler's primary purpose is to protect our Actives, and to get them back when their engagements are complete. Since we're just altering the President's physical state, there's no need for her to have a handler. She will be Laura Roslin once we are done, she'll just have a brain that's modified to fight cancer."

Bill nodded. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he believed it. But when the procedure was finally over and Laura sat up, she didn't ask the customary did I fall asleep? Instead, she looked around her wonderingly. "Is it done?"

"Yup, it's done. You are now a living, walking medical experiment, and hopefully my greatest triumph," Topher said, slapping his hands together. "Go in peace, may the road rise to meet you, cure cancer and all that."

Laura shook her head, and then her gaze landed on Bill. "I'm exhausted," she admitted, "but I'm here. Let's go home."

On to Chapter 5